Distortions and Truths
by jojospn
Summary: SPOILERS for "Yellow Fever". Once again, time is running out for Dean Winchester. As he struggles to deal with his latest halucination, Sam tries to comfort his brother. Based on a prompt. What Sam really was saying while Dean was halucinating. Rated T for content.


**A/N: This one shot is based on the prompt "****From Yellow Fever- the part after Sam gets back to the room and Dean starts hallucinating. We see it from Dean's point of view. How about we find out what Sam actually was saying, not what Dean heard." From mandancie. Hopefully I do this justice! Thanks for all my followers, PMers and reviewers, you guys are awesome! And can't wait for "Goodbye Stranger!" Super excited to see what has happened to Cas! DISCLAIMER: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters.**

**Distortions and Truths**

"Dean."

I can see the look of horror, that terrible sense of deja-vu, and I know that my brother is hallucinating; he'd done the exact same thing five months earlier, as the deadline to the end of his deal was fast approaching. I closed my eyes for a second, wondered what it was that Dean was seeing, or what he heard. I sighed. For a second, I considered keeping my mouth shut. Why bother, if he would no doubt be misinterpreting what I would say?

But I couldn't keep silent. This was not only deja-vu for my brother, but me too. I remembered those final hours, how this horrible mental clock kept on ticking, annoyingly loud and ever incessant, reminding me with every breath that I was running out of time: that _Dean_ was running out of time. And now, after I had believed all this to be behind us, I can hear that goddamned clock ticking again.

"Dean," I try again, and my brother blinks. I can imagine my face twisting and contorting in horrific ways, and I fight back the urge to be sick. Instead, I draw a deep breath and continue, hoping that maybe, just _maybe,_ he can hear what I am truly saying,

It is unlikely.

"Man, I know that we are cutting it pretty close, but we'll figure it out. I promise. Bobby's got shitloads of resources in his library, you know that, right?" A faint, half-hearted chuckle. Dean still looks at me like I have two heads (hell, maybe in his hallucination, I do) but I continue nonetheless.

"I promise I am not going to let you die. I let you down before, and I swear to God that I am not going to do it again. You're my brother, man, I can't watch you die again. I won't." I look into my brother's eyes, and I see no comfort, just confusion and fear. I know now that my words are useless, and I want to stop. Every word that is coming out of my mouth is bringing not comfort, but fear and hurt. But I can't stop, and I realize that I am speaking not just for his benefit, but mine as well. A reminder that I have to save my brother, because I had failed the last time. And failure is not an option for Sam Winchester.

"You've taken care of my all my life. Ever since I was crawling around in diapers. And now I have the chance to take care of you. So just hang on, ok? Please?"

"No! You get out of my brother, you evil sonofabitch!"

He thinks I'm possessed. That Lilith or Yellow Eyes or something has taken over my body. I see the fear in his eyes, see him cower against the wall. It pains me to see my brother so afraid of me, and I walk over to him, to try to comfort him.

"No one's possessing me Dean. It's just me. Sammy." I hope that slipping out the nickname, the one I hate so damn much, might snap Dean back to reality, but it has no effect. I lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, hoping that he finds at least some sense of comfort in my touch, but instead, his eyes widen, his face contorted in pain, and I realize that he is reacting as one who is choking. Am I hurting him? Oh my God, does he see me hurting him? My big brother?

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! Dean!" The words roll quickly off my tongue as I struggle to bring Dean back, to snap him back to reality. And thank God, he does. He looks up at me, green eyes aware as he looks up at me, gradually controlling his breathing. I gently pat him on the shoulder, relief running through my veins. But unfortunately, that relief is short lived. Because in four short hours, unless Bobby and I come up with some miracle, that man, my brother, will be dead. I close my eyes, and I'm back in Wyoming, listening as Dean confesses to me about the deal he had made, that look of guilt in his eyes. And I find myself repeating the words I had told him that night:

"You're my big brother. There's _nothing_ I wouldn't do for you."


End file.
